


The World Keeps Turning

by ColonelSpades



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Golf, Jack likes golf, Matt didn't last long, Medical Procedures, and one of those stand-in background characters I have, gabe is goin ghost, just golf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColonelSpades/pseuds/ColonelSpades
Summary: Previously "Fore!", this is going to be revamped into a SFW drabble collection.Tags, relationships, and rating may change as I go, tags will be updated when appropriate.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Fore!

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's long-suffering aid, Matt, must find the wayward Strike-Commander.

Matthew was afraid of heights, and anytime Strike-Commander Morrison wanted to avoid him, he knew just where to go (Really, avoiding his own aid?). It was like trying to catch a bird; a nearly 300 lb armored showbird, but a bird nevertheless.

‘ _Great opportunities in the summer are hidden in the seeds you plant in the fall_ ' his fortune cookie had read when he'd decided to take on the role of Assistant to the Strike-Commander for a tiny little organization the UN called “Overwatch”. Its members had exactly four people Matt particularly cared for. Of the other two, Morrison was a well meaning keg of nitroglycerin looking for a blasting point, and Reyes scared him pantsless plain and simple. Sojourn, Ana, Torbjorn, and Reinhardt were fine to work with in comparison to some barely-thirty farmer’s boy, even if Lindholm had a bad attitude.

Funny that the farmer's boy would end up being his main problem. Matt considered Johnathan Francis Morrison to be his nemesis. He was a nice man, and had the charm and charisma to make it impossible to truly hate him, despite Matt's attempts otherwise. But even then, Overwatch was 2 years old and Jack never seemed like a fit leader in that time. He was inexperienced, brash, challenged authorities, and while he fought for good causes, he _didn't_ respect Overwatch's limitations. Matt respected him as a veteran, but in Matt's view, he was basically hired just as a pretty face- though that backfired when Jack learned he could open his mouth and people were obligated to listen.

_**WHACK!** _

His hands shook, a stapled packet of now-wrinkled papers clenched tightly in his jaw as he took the last few rungs up the ladder and onto the _very top_ of Watchpoint Gibraltar. Were he not paralyzed with fear, he would have been awestruck by the view of the sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon.

_**WHACK!** _

Ah, yes. The source of his premature grey hairs had a tailor-made, shiny metal reinforced golf club Matt was sure cost the same amount as the brand new set of tires he'd just gotten for his car. This was number 3 in the line of clubs the man had used to death over the years. Granted, with the enhanced strength, they were the only ones that could withstand his golf swing.

“Matthew, my ever-present shadow. Y’know, Elise just waits downstairs and I don’t think she’s half as bad with heights as you are.” Despite the sound of wind and the ocean, you could probably hear that booming voice from here to Milan.

“Yes, Commander Morrison, but--”

_**WHACK!** _

“Invitation’s still open to call me Jack. _Way_ fewer syllables.”

“Commander Jack.” He said evenly as he could. The man had the impressive ability to be charming and utterly infuriating at the same time. Maybe _that’s_ why he had the job. “You have a meeting you’re about to be-” he checked his watch. “Ten minutes late to with the-”

_**WHACK!** _

The little white ball sailed like a jet, taking off and disappearing into the backdrop of sky and ocean just like all the others. Apparently they were a new type of golf ball, and would degrade over time at the bottom of the sea. Though, Matt wondered if that stood up when some poor animal got hit with a golf ball going mach 5.

“Investors, right?” Jack called back, shading his eyes and watching the ball sail. “Please, you could put a bowling ball vaguely shaped like me and have just as much input. They’re going to bicker about spending on the charity event, tell me they’re going to need another ‘show of faith’ to prove my interests lie with the keeping of a contract I didn’t even read-”

“You were **supposed** to.”

“And then the meeting will be over. I shake everybody’s hand ‘till I get a cramp.” He lined up another shot, shifting his weight back and forth between each foot, and _**WHACK!**_

Matt waited, disgruntled. He was definitely handing off the next task of retrieving the errant manchild to Sandra or Susan. He never remembered the woman's name.

“I’m comin’.” Jack handed the golf club to Matt, and the smaller man was struck by how _heavy_ the thing was.

“Great stress reliever. I’ll give Elise your best.” And that spiky shock of blond hair disappeared into the hatch, destined for another two hours of meetings. More, if they took the time to yell at him like Matt wished they would.

‘ _Great opportunities, indeed_.’


	2. I Only Saved Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira's relationship with Overwatch and its commanders was always something she couldn't quantify.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Gabriel Reyes, Moira O'Deorain  
> Ships: Background r76  
> Relevant tws: mild gore, medical setting, some blood

"What _is_ this shit, Moira?" Gabe's tone was accusatory. She saw the little clusters of black mist that rose from his shoulders, his head and ears, his fingers and chest, and even the legs of his pants. Her expression was only moved by curiosity.

"An unintended side-effect," she replied evenly. It did little- if anything- to assuage the anger Gabriel seemed to radiate. “I told you-”

“ _Side effect_? You call this a _side effect?_ ” He snapped. She bit back the sigh that threatened to slip from her lips. She had only been reinstated in Blackwatch by the _merciful_ word of Gabriel’s husband. She had no desire to sour the opportunity too quickly. And it wasn’t like she didn’t understand Gabriel’s distress. It was merely that… to her, this was more fascinating than angering. While she didn’t share his anger… She understood it. “What’s going on? What is this?”

“I don’t know, Gabriel. Might I remind you that we both knew this would be uncharted territory?” As ever, she remained calm. “If you will sit again, I will take as many samples as I can and investigate it.”

“And I’m just supposed to smoke like this? I can’t exactly waltz up to meetings looking like a Fern Gully villain,” His anger was misplaced, but she didn’t begrudge him that. Much as she preferred not being yelled at, she didn’t take it personally.

“I would advise you to take sick leave and quarantine until I’ve had some time to analyze the samples.” She busied herself with readying materials and what tools she would need to work. It would be a long night. She hadn’t been expecting this result but she was nigh-on _giddy_ about the potential.

“And how do I quarantine from the man I live with? I can’t exactly explain this.” He motioned to himself, and for a split second, she felt some measure of annoyance at his boring conundrum. She wasn’t immune to the ails of the heart, but Morrison’s reaction was hardly her concern unless it trickled down to her lab. She hid it well, laying out vials and opening sterilized packaging.

“He knows there are risks to what we’re doing.” She was well aware Gabriel, the reticent man he was, likely only told Jack what he had to in order to get Moira brought back in secret. The only way to ever crack the intractable Strike-Commander was through his equally stubborn husband. Though, the same could be said for Gabriel. Funny that both the super soldiers’ only point of “weakness” would be another super soldier. “I doubt odd side effects will make him dislike you.”

“That’s not the issue here.” His tone of voice was one she was growing familiar with- the one that told her she had slipped onto thin ice, and she offered a shake of her head. As ever, she seemed to have missed the mark in her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I was making a joke, Gabriel,” she replied as she moved to his side again, tying a tourniquet around his arm. “My point was that the Strike-Commander is familiar with risks. This is no different. We aren’t administering therapies that have been studied for years, we’re on the medical front lines- so to speak. Not in anything comfortable or usual. Expecting things to go smoothly without any hitches is nothing short of madness. We’ll continue to work, and deal with the unexpected as it comes.” Gabriel didn’t reply.

She labeled three vials of blood and two filled with only semi-corporeal black substance. It was _that_ she was most interested in. It seemed to almost move more than her own manipulation of the vial- as though it was at least somewhat… alive. That might not be the best word for it, but it did seem so curiously mobile in the little vial.

She could sense the tension slowly filtering from the Commander as he stewed in thought, giving way to a fatigue she rarely saw in him. Eyeing him, she placed the vials in their box and set them aside. She couldn't help that... _twinge_ of empathy that bubbled under the surface of her impersonal exterior. A hand rested on his shoulder hesitantly.

“Gabriel, I will do all I can to determine what’s caused this. I understand your doubt, but do know I don’t see you as a test subject under a microscope. I do want to help.” He didn’t spare her a glance, but he did sigh, closing his eyes and moving to pull his hoodie over his head.

“Let me know when you have anything,” he finally stated as he stood up. “And thank you, Moira.”

“Any time, Gabriel.”

***

Fire and rubble and ash and broken concrete and screaming was like some horrifying lucid dream that wedged into his mind like pokers fresh from a fireplace. He reached a hand out- at least he thought he did- until he felt nothing touch his fingers. He did not even feel his own palm, or his fingers, his arm, anything-

“Gabriel!” A familiar accented voice. Strong- unyielding, and cutting through the fog. “Gabriel, I need you to calm down and listen to me.”

She spoke slow, like he was a child having a tantrum, and he realized that he could not even see beyond shuddering shadows. He told himself to open his eyes, to see her, to place a familiar face in this void of sensory deprivation. She repeated her words, an acerbic mantra that eventually seemed to catch hold of him. The more she did, and the more he felt the world slow down. Blurry forms seemed to wink in and out of existence, her voice the only constant.

“Exactly like that. Calm down, and listen….” As she spoke the last, the edge of her voice seemed to soften just so, as though praising him. “You’re stable. But you were wounded in the explosion of the headquarters.”

‘ _Jack?_ ’ She didn’t reply for a moment, and he almost asked again.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel, I can’t hear you very well, right now. Your body didn’t survive long. As we transported you to a safe location, you…” She seemed perplexed on what to say- a rarity for the great Moira O’Deorain. He could just make out the image of that discolored arm atop glass overhead. “I theorize your body was unable to heal the trauma caused by your injuries, so it mutated instead to keep you alive. A mixture of our therapies and the enhancement serum has rendered you corporeal, but very… limited.”

His body? His mind wracked itself, trying to twist around the concept of whatever she was trying to explain. But she seemed just as lost as he.

“It will take you a while to adapt. But you have already made progress. This is day twelve. You’ve since gained the ability to hear, some ability to speak, and some ability to see, but your short term memory seems to be impaired, and your state is delicate. High emotion seems to destabilize you.” The world around him seemed to shudder, and it wasn’t until he realized it was his own emotion that was causing it that he forced himself to calm again, thinking of her steady voice and that mantra to _calm down_.

“ _J… a… c…k..._?” There’s silence, and for the first time, he can see her face almost clearly. It’s wracked with something he can barely interpret as uncertainty. It was odd, seeing that flash across her after so many years of knowing the unflappable O’Deorain.

“I don’t know, Gabriel. There are no reports of a body being found.” So he could still be alive? And the rest of Overwatch?

“ _W… he…. re…?_ ” She shifted.

“At a private laboratory. I had you transferred here to monitor your condition. There is, after all, no one else who knows the extent of your.. Condition as I do.” And no one else who knew about what Gabriel Reyes had slowly been turning into over the last year. Moira was likely concerned about losing her work with him, but she did care for him- in some fashion. He had seeped through the cracks into her life just as she had into his. But the revelation of a “private laboratory” and her current appearance, he figured it was likely more of a ‘laboratory I don’t want to you to know the location of’ case.

“ _Pa…. i…. n…_ ” Moira stood, moving to the side where he couldn’t very well see her. Though, he could see more. The world seemed to filter in slowly, clearing up so long as he focused- an exhausting affair. He could see all the hallmarks of a lab: machines, white walls, desks, chairs, all sorts of bits for various purposes. She held a clipboard filled with various words and illegible handwriting that he could make out nothing on.

“I can re-flood your system with nanobiotics and painkillers, but I’ve been careful about giving you too much.” Her voice was just that much quieter, a tone shift only he seemed to notice in her when she was as close to apologetic as O’Deorain ever got.

The pain seemed to lessen, though not disappear entirely. She sat down again, and it was then he registered weariness on her face.

“I would try to explain what’s happened, but I don’t think it would do any good,” she finally said. “I can go over events when you’re in a more... _cohesive_ form.”

For now, he opted to sleep, with as much of a thank you as he could muster- though he didn’t know if she heard him. As he seemed to fade, his eyes finally caught a word on the clipboard in her lap that he did recognize: _Oasis_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like the "Moira is evil and planned everything" trope. I think she functions so perfectly as a grey character, and it only adds to her story and depth to allow her to form connections with people that, at the very least, she sees as real. So many of her voicelines in game are her attempting to help/make people see her side of what she's doing. I think she's fascinating in this way rather than this evil mastermind who tortures everyone.


End file.
